Eight One Five - Phan
by isthisjustphantasy
Summary: spy AU: Dan's on a mission. It's pretty routine; befriend the bad guy's kid, collect enough information for a conviction and beat some people up. Move on out and abandon the identity assumed. Things get complicated when Dan's a little too good at befriending Phil Lester. Sometimes good and evil isn't black and white, and Dan has to decide which lives he can allow himself to ruin.
1. Prologue

**_Teen spy AU: Dan's an underage intelligence operative and he's on a mission. It's pretty routine; befriend the bad guy's kid, collect enough information for a conviction and beat some people up. Move on out and abandon the identity assumed. Things get complicated when Dan turns out to be a little too good at befriending Phil Lester. Sometimes good and evil aren't black and white, and Dan has to decide which lives he can allow himself to ruin. Badass!phan, warnings for violence, crime, guns, alcohol, smoking, drugs and any more will be added when I write them..._**

**_A/N: This is, if you like, a preview. The story won't start until my exams are over at the end of June but heck maybe you can get excited about it now :P It's going to be a long one, think Human length but 10 times as ambitious. It might all go horribly wrong and get abandoned because i'm trying out a genre i have literally no experience with so as to try get better at it whoops sorry anyway wish me luck i have big plans for this so i rly hope you enjoy it weeps_**

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x

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Daniel James Howell. He tested it out on his tongue. Dan liked the ring to this one. With a name like 'Dan' it was easy for him to always use his real first name when assuming a false identity (changing something as ingrained and personal as your own name is far too likely to result in a slip, something tiny, that would cost you the whole mission). He repeated it over and over under his breath as he walked back to his room. Dan liked the sound of this mission, too. It was in a nice area of London and they'd get a big, cushy townhouse to go with the new name. In order to impress the Lesters they'd have to splash the cash around, which meant new clothes too and maybe some other perks like games and cars. Dan liked wearing designer clothes. He got a lot of stick for it on campus, the amounts he was prepared to spend on a single shirt with a turned up collar, but it made him feel confident. He could puff his chest out a little more and not be so self-conscious of how scrawny it was in comparison to the beefy pecks of most of the guys his age. It was nice knowing that very few people in the world had that particular shirt, unlike the hordes with football shirts and adidas combat trousers that he worked with.

Dan stretched out on his bed to read his mission briefing. It was relatively low risk and, despite the confidential material, he'd been allowed to take some of it out of the high security mission control buildings that ran down one length of the campus. Less than a mile north were training some of the most highly specialised intelligence operatives MI5 had to offer. There were three campuses on the Richfield site. The special operations, the training and support unit and the underage unit – one of the most controversial routes taken by any military government on Earth.

The UU ranged from 15-18, at which point agents were encouraged but not obligated to continue on into MI5. Originally it had been a practice very similar to cadets, that aimed to inspire young people to join the military intelligence task force, but over time the youths had proved far more useful than expected and there now operated an entire live-in training facility. Joining was not a decision to be taken lightly, but Dan hadn't had much of a choice.

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x

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Dan glanced at the grainy image of Phil Lester on his bedside table and he yawned. Phil looked harmless enough, but you could never tell much about personality from a biography. Dan had had a lot of experience in dealing with the offspring of criminals. They were almost invariably spoiled brats or seriously messed up.

The clock read 5am and Dan wanted very much to be back in his warm bed, but he pulled on his trainers and stepped out into the brisk February air. It was colder than he'd expected. He did a few lunges and jogged on the spot in an attempt to warm up, then gave up and set off at a sprint towards the running track. Running was peaceful. This side of six o'clock was quiet even on such a strict training facility, and Dan had only birdsong to accompany him as his feet moved rhythmically on the springy ground. The morning light was bright and invigorating. Given his way Dan could easily sleep till well into the afternoon, but once he was up he had to admit to himself that he did enjoy mornings. The skies were clear and pale blue surrounded the yellow sun, as opposed the drowsy hues of orange and purple afternoon haze. He liked mornings, because nature was wide awake while most of humanity slept.

By the time he made his way back to the changing rooms the campus was starting to stir into life. Already there was a class running sleepy laps on the track and the showers were thick with the smell of sweat and lynx deodorant. Dan rang the last suds of soap from his hair and snuggled into the warmth of a towel. He had to stay in shape to keep his place at the unit, but he would never be a fitness fanatic – he was far too lazy by nature. His hair already tangling into curls, he headed back into the main building to pack for London.

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x

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The senior agent on this mission was going to be David Baker, soon to be David Howell, an MI5 operative experienced with working with the underage unit. Dan had a pretend mother too, Janet Howell, and an older sister: Sophie Howell. Each had their part to play in the mission, and Dan was looking forward to it as they climbed into the sleek black car that was to be their new family transport. Sophie had worked with Dan before and they chatted easily, catching up and testing each other on their invented backstory.

The London townhouse was everything Dan had hoped for. He had a large, double room overlooking the garden in which to spread out his relatively modest collection of possessions, and there was a basement with a pool table and two large plasma screens mounted on opposite walls. They were just a few blocks away from the Lester household and Dan google mapped the building absentmindedly as he lay on his bed.

Michael Lester was a self-made business man. He was, apparently, very good at what he did – whatever it was. Because the business he ran wouldn't turn over enough to buy even the front room of their sprawling family abode. The police had followed leads to drugs gangs, shoplifting networks and even a human trafficking organisation; but so far to no avail. The four agents' job was straightforward: they simply had to figure out where he was getting the money from, because there was no way it was legal.

Dan was due to start at the same school as Phil on Monday. He was their first point of contact, the plan being that, with a couple of invites over for tea, the rest of their makeshift family would be able to establish connections with their own targets. There was a lot resting on Dan's ability to befriend Phil, but he wasn't too worried. From what he'd read they had a lot in common, and Phil seemed like just the kind of guy to be nice to the new kid. With a stretch and a yawn, Dan rolled off the bed and padded downstairs in search of food.

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x

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The cool spy stuff only stretched so far, and so as to maintain his cover Dan had to start school just like every other unfortunate new kid. He made an effort to stumble over his words as he introduced himself in front of the class, his cheeks red and his face to the floor. As he looked up, he scanned the room in search of the dark hair and long nose from the photograph. He almost didn't notice Phil until he sat down in the only empty seat in the room. The boy next to him had a mop of black hair and wide, sloping shoulders. He turned to Dan with a shy smile.

"Hey," he said. "I'm Phil."

Dan froze.

He wished more than ever that the mission briefing documents weren't in black and white, at least then he might have been a little more prepared to take in the vibrant blue of Phil's eyes.


	2. The Howells

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Maths moved slowly. Neither Dan nor Phil had any great prowess in the subject, and they teamed up immediately to tackle the tangled equations that sprawled across the worksheet they'd been given.

"I literally cannot wait to drop maths next year." Phil groaned.

"Same," Dan said ruefully, knowing only too well that he wouldn't be able to. Maths A level was compulsory at the Unit, as were at least one foreign language and a science.

"So. Where are you from and why did you move here?"

"I'm from Brighton," Dan shrugged. "My Dad always worked in London but he decided he was bored of commuting up every day."

"What does he do?" Phil asked.

"No idea, really. I don't pay much attention to him. He works for a business that sells technology and software and stuff overseas. Well, he part owns it with another guy."

Phil nodded, interested. "My dad owns a company too. It sells like stationary though, not as cool."

"Whereabouts do you live?" Dan asked.

"Egerton Place." Phil replied.

"Yeah, I only just got here I don't know where that is. Not sure why I asked really," Dan laughed. "We're in Brompton Square."

"No way!" Phil exclaimed. "That's like, two minutes from my house. We're basically neighbours."

"That's really cool," Dan grinned. "Especially as we have to travel so far to get here. And now we're sitting next to each other. Coincidence, huh?"

"Yeah," Phil smiled shyly. "So, you're my new maths buddy. Can I see your timetable? Maybe we're in other classes together."

It quickly transpired that, conveniently enough, they were in almost all the same classes and had taken the same options, except for art, as Dan had opted for drama instead. They talked easily, finding all the many things they had in common, and Dan left Phil at the corner of his road bubbling with success.

"Well?" Janet asked as Dan turned his key in the lock, slinging his bag off his shoulder and leaving it in the hallway to close the door behind him.

"Really good actually. Phil's nice, it seems like his Dad keeps all the criminal stuff away from his kids as all Phil mentioned was the stationary business, and he didn't look like he was hiding anything. But it's hard to say so early. We walked home together and sit next to each other in most of our lessons. I don't think it'll be long, he's already promised to give me a tour of South Kensington in his Dad's new car."

Janet beamed. "Well that's excellent, you've made a great start, Dan. Don't push it too much though, obviously, remember you're new and you want to make lots of friends. Not just Phil. Ideally you want to find out who his friends are so that you can stay close to him without him suspecting."

Dan nodded. "I know. He didn't mention a single other person all day though, I'm not sure he has a lot of them. Anyway it's only the first day. And they made me learn Latin – it was excruciating. I hate private schools, what's even the point of Latin?!"

Janet rolled her eyes, ignoring him. "We've set up a surveillance room in the study where we've got all our equipment stored. It's locked with a combination padlock ready in case you need to bring a friend home, obviously it's the usual 'oh that's my dad's study, he doesn't let anyone go in there because of important documents yadda yadda' and don't let them go in my room either if you can help it, nothing unexplainable, but I have got a rather large collection of throwing knives that I need to get round to polishing."

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x

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Sophie was an ex Underage Unit operative herself and she took every opportunity to reminisce with Dan.

"Does the combat building still have that purple squashy floor that looks like it's something from a psychedelic nightmare?"

"Yeah," Dan chuckled. "With the horrific yellow spirals. It certainly helps disorientate you while people are trying to kick your face in."

Sophie grinned. "How's the new library? They were building it the whole time I was there but I never got to use it."

"It's actually really cool. Fastest Wi-Fi anywhere on campus and loads of comfy armchairs, but you're not allowed to talk which renders them pretty useless. More books than you could ever read in your three years."

"Three?" Sophie said sharply.

"Yeah," Dan paused, unsure. "Did you not know? They're accepting new recruits aged fifteen to train for a year before they can go on missions or do any field work. It's much better, because it's really hard to get us trained up in time to be any real use if we're only there two years." Dan cowered under Sophie's expression.

"Sixteen is already a massive breach of the law. They're passing it off as military, but in reality it's way more dangerous than getting shot at. Fifteen on the other hand breaks every single law ever – I can hardly believe they're telling the UN about this," She sighed. "I get it, though. More training is always better. But I reckon they're just going to use it as an excuse to send the kids into much more dangerous situations."

Dan shrugged. "I've got a year left, and I'll probably go on to MI5. Who knows, maybe one day I'll return as an instructor only to find myself teaching five year olds how to fire a machine gun."

Sophie smiled ruefully. "Yeah, that's what I'm worried about. Presumably they're teaching them how to drive at fifteen too then?"

Dan nodded, and Sophie sighed. "Never mind. It's none of our business, hey? So. Where's the coolest place you've ever been on a mission?"

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Janet, it transpired, cooked a beautiful macaroni and cheese that Dan was very grateful of after the questionable school lunch. David was working on the case from Westminster and would only be at the house when he was needed, which fitted nicely with the busy company he was supposed to be running. Sophie was recently qualified and this was to be the first mission of her second year on the field. Janet however was close to retirement, and had left the more fast paced intelligence work in favour of these low importance, low budget operations. While Sophie cleared away the remains of their dinner, Janet spread out the case notes on the table and force fed Dan a biscuit.

"Okay," she said through a mouthful of chocolate. "Phil either doesn't know about his dad or is a RADA trained actor. We've yet to make contact with the other three Lesters living in Kensington, and don't forget the third brother in Australia. He moved away before the money started coming in though so it's not dangerous to assume at least for now that he's also uninvolved. The Met[1] have been on Michael Lester's tail for a long time now trying to pin something on him, but he's proved pretty slippery – hence why we were called in. Sophie, you've got the files?"

Sophie nodded. "He's been seen meeting with some pretty prolific figures in the criminal world, which is why they've decided to invest in a whole MI team to try figure it out. The real reason we're all here, as I'm sure you know, is that the first agent sent in to make contact went missing and has yet to return. There are lots of reasons for this. Firstly, it was very low budget and she was only given three days to get inside and so she attempted to break in. We're not going down that route. Strictly friendly. She was also working alone, which increases the risk factor tenfold. We've all got trackers in our mobiles and there's loads more all shapes and sizes if you're going into a potentially dangerous situation that won't be detectable. We've got Dave as our liaison in headquarters, a team backing us of just normal police dudes and of course the mission control back at campus for Dan. We're not going anywhere. There's absolutely no way this man is innocent, after what happened to Callie, and there's every possibility that we will uncover something pretty massive. At which point Dan will be pulled or at least side-lined and backup is ready to step in and help us out. This is all mostly for you Dan, as I'm sure you're used to by now. That was my 'Re-brief on location' – wanna pull out?"

"Nah, I'm good." Dan grinned.

"Thought so somehow." Sophie smiled. "I mean, it's a good idea – I remember agreeing to a mission in Russia that sounded like a bit of a holiday and a chance to actually use a gun for once, but when we got there it was just very scary and very cold. The girl I was with got cold feet which meant the whole mission had to be scrapped, but I was secretly glad – I'd just been too proud to pull out. The scariest thing I've seen so far on this one was the huge ass spider in the shower this morning."

Dan gave the two older agents the low down on what little he'd learned from Phil, but there wasn't much to tell and Janet carried the paperwork through into the living room while Sophie retreated to her laptop. Dan eyed it enviously. He'd taken his PlayStation with him but the only TVs were the pair in the basement, and he hadn't been able to figure out where to plug it in.

He kicked about the house for half an hour before heading out for a walk. The leafy, suburban streets were very quiet. It was only 8pm and Dan sighed – he was already bored, things were not looking good. He painted a mental picture of Phil in his mind. Pale skin, a long nose, blue eyes, and a shock of dark hair that was definitely dyed. An inch taller than Dan at 6ft, maybe two. Average build with broad shoulders but long, slender limbs. Half smile. Floppy fringe. Wardrobe was hard to judge after just one meeting, but Dan suspected black skinny jeans were on the agenda 99% of the time. No particularly defining features, definitely a look that could be scrapped at a seconds notice, but somehow Dan got the impression Phil was just as transparent as he came across. Open and warm. The phrase 'head in the clouds' came to mind, but in an endearing way. He didn't look particularly athletic, but then again neither did Dan under the baggy school jumpers.

Dan squinted at a street sign. It was hard to make out under the dusty yellow glow of the streetlamps, but it wasn't a name Dan recognised. He kicked out irritably at paper bag drifting silently along with the breeze, but it caught on his trainer and he had do a sort of hop-skip to shake it off. Cheeks burning, he glanced around, thankful for the quietness at last. MI5 agents going missing sounded exciting. There was nothing exciting about King Charles Place.

Dan turned moodily on his heel, heading back the way he had come. He was trying to retrace his steps, but the buildings all looked the same. Wide crescents of tall Edwardian townhouses with a well-kept green lawn in the middle, and perhaps a few trees. He muttered angrily under his breath as he turned eastwards, hoping to find the high street and take the long way home.

Was he going east, though? They'd been taught to spot the North Star at night, but through the canopy of trees and rooftops had Dan unwittingly picked out the wrong sparkling light? He should have hit the high street by now. Uneasily, he checked his watch. It was nine already and if he was out much later he'd get a call on his phone and an earful from Janet. He broke into a quiet jog, his eyes squinting into the darkness. A rustle in a privet hedge made him jump and a sleepy squirrel sent his heart pounding into his mouth. He cursed again. Paranoia was not going to help, he needed to calm down. Hadn't he just been thinking how quiet and boring this district was? Dan took a few steady breaths. He'd emerged on a street with shops, but it wasn't the high street he was after.

He slowed back to a walk, not wanting to draw attention to himself. One of the shops had pink graffiti on the shutters and Dan was starting to panic. Had he left Chelsea completely? A bin lay overturned in an alley and an empty bottle rolled forlorn down the tarmac. It wasn't much, but it would have been enough to cause an outcry from the residents of his road at least. Dan thrust his hands in his pockets, shivering. He wished he'd brought a coat. Defeated at last, he pulled out his phone and waited for google maps to load. The tall buildings made the GPS useless, but at least he could look for road names and figure out where he was.

Dan was concentrating on his phone and almost didn't notice the two boys in grey hoodies sauntering down the pavement towards him. Warily, he slipped his phone back in his pocket. If this had been a road in Hackney perhaps he would already have been tensing to run, but this was South Kensington. The hoodies were branded and the flicker of a shop sign caught the pinstripe of their trousers. In fact, Dan could see a blue tie poking out the neck of the taller boy's sweater.

Dan relaxed, supressing a snigger as he noted how ridiculous they looked with their hoods pulled down over their faces. The smile vanished from his face completely however when the smaller figure pulled out a small, curved knife.

"Alright stranger?" The boy drawled, only Dan was pretty sure the question was rhetorical. "We ain't seen you 'round here before. What's your name?"

Dan fought off the urge to laugh again at the valiant attempt at a cockney accent. "Dan." He said quickly.

"No need to be afraid. We saw you move in, actually. We figured we'd check up on you. See how you're settling in. Friendly, like."

Dan raised his eyebrow at the glittering blade.

"Even the upper-class streets have to be owned by someone, Dan. And we own these streets. The name's Bullet, and this here is Rocko. No one walks them without our permission. Understand?"

Dan nodded, incredulous. He'd had encounters like this a hundred times on some of the grimiest, most bone chilling streets in England; but this pair had him perplexed. It was 9:15. He could hear someone watching reruns of the Antiques Roadshow in the building next to them, and the boys clearly went to one of the plentiful private schools.

"You look a bit lost, friend," Bullet continued. "You're only five minutes from home, don't worry. Keep heading straight then take a left at the traffic lights."

"Um, thanks," Dan said alarmed. He stayed where he was for a moment, before tentatively starting forward – resisting the urge to give them a large berth. He was nearly passed them when Bullet stepped in front of him again.

"Listen, you need anything, you come to us. I can't get a reading on you. Usually I got people pretty sussed, but not you. You don't look like you belong here. Your clothes aren't right, and you don't carry yourself right either. It's not new money though. I can sniff new money a mile off. It's something else. Your folks – what do they do?"

"Um, my dad runs a technology company." Dan held his breath as Bullet scrutinized him, their faces mere millimetres apart.

"That's not true. Maybe that's what he says, but you don't believe it. It's not oligarch – you're too tan to be Russian. Something a little dodgy, maybe. Something you don't think is going to make you any friends around here. Politics? Bank? I'm not sure. We'll see each other again soon, Dan. The boss will be interested in you."

Bullet had clearly been saving this sentence up, knowing it would send chills down Dan's spine. He wondered how many other teens he'd given the same speech to.

"If there's anything you need, come to us – you hear? If you spot kids causing a scene, it's our duty to put an end to it. This is Chelsea, not Milwall. Need drink but daddy's got a lock on the liquor cabinet? We'll sort you out, no sweat." Bullet looked again into Dan's eyes. "If you're into drugs you need to be buying from the right sort of people. Street rats are unreliable at best, and we can put you onto someone. Only the purest, that's a guarantee. You'll find us at the gym most days. Tyson's. Not the community gym, obviously."

"Um, okay. Sure. Thanks." Dan blinked.

"We can hook you up with a cut price membership, too. We'll clear it with Mr Lester. See you around, shrimp."

Dan froze to the spot as they slouched away, hands thrust into the pockets of their Hugo Boss suit trousers. Mr Lester? That was the last name he'd been expecting to hear. Maybe he would be paying a visit to Tysons' Gymnasium after all.

Dan was about to start off again when he caught the sound of footsteps approaching rapidly. He spun round in time to see the fist connect with his face. Pain shot through his right cheek and he ducked instinctively out of the way as Rocko made to swing another punch. He was as tall as Dan but twice as wide, and he looked strong. Dan rammed forwards into Rocko's gut with a shoulder. Rocko swayed, winded. Another fist grazed Dan's face, but he blocked it with an arm, wincing in pain. That would bruise tomorrow. Rocko struck out again and Dan tasted blood as his lip split against his teeth. He ducked down under Rocko's flailing fists and thrust the base of his palm up into Rocko's jaw. His head snapped back and he stumbled. Dan grabbed his arm and twisted it quickly behind his back before he could regain his balance. Finally he spotted Bullet, a few metres away watching the struggle in silence. Bullet had a knife. If he joined in, Dan would be out matched.

Rocko used his vast weight to wrench his arm out of Dan's grip. Dan jumped backwards, poised on his toes. His mind was racing. If they were going to attack him, why had they bothered with the little chat? Was this a display of dominance? If so, Dan probably should have taken the beating. Proving he knew how to defend himself only marked him out as someone to watch.

Rocko was hanging back too, eyeing Dan cautiously and rubbing neck. He seemed unsure of himself, glancing back at Bullet for instruction. It seemed more and more likely that the intent was only to shock Dan into being scared of them. At a nod from the shadows, Rocko lunged forwards again. He barrelled into Dan and Dan sidestepped quickly, bringing his knee up into Rocko's gut. Rocko doubled over and Dan put all his weight behind his elbow, slamming down into a soft spot on Rocko's wide back. He crumpled, concaving inwards and letting out a bellow of pain. His eyes were livid and just as Dan was about to back off Rocko's arm started moving towards his pocket. Dan didn't know what he was about to pull out, but it wasn't worth the risk. He charged forwards with a kick that knocked Rocko spread-eagled on the floor and straddled his waist, pinning his arms up above his head on the cold floor.

Bullet remained in the shadows, unmoving. Dan looked up at him warily as he spit out a mouth of blood into the gutter.

"What the hell was that about?" He muttered. "I don't want trouble."

Bullet shrugged. "Wanted to get a measure of you. Reckon I got a pretty good one now. You know some moves, kiddo. Rocko's a big lump of meat. He could crush you. If you stayed still long enough. I spotted you. I'm good at spotting people. I could see you had potential. Let him up, he's not going to hurt you."

After a moment's pause, Dan grudgingly released Rocko's wrists and clambered awkwardly to his feet, taking a few steps back.

Rocko pulled himself slowly into a sitting position, glaring murderously at Dan and wheezing.

"Meet us at Tyson's. Saturday at 6pm. We'll be in the weight training basement." Bullet continued, ignoring Rocko as he muttered under his breath.

"Why should I?" Dan asked.

Bullet just smirked. "You'll come. Like I said, I spot people. You'd come even if you were certain we planned to string you to the wall and beat you."

"What makes you think that?"

"You should have run. You were outnumbered, and I'd already shown you I had a knife. Why were you wandering around here anyway? You got bored. You like a bit of danger and excitement. You wouldn't have learned all that shit if you didn't. See you Saturday, Daniel. C'mon, Rocko."

Dan stayed where he was until he was sure the pair were well out of attacking distance, Rocko limping slightly as they walked. Satisfied that they really were going, Dan turned and broke into a fast but quiet jog, glancing back over his shoulder every few strides half expecting Bullet to spin round and pull a gun on him. What the hell was that? He shook his head, his face still stinging from Rocko's clumsy punch. He shouldn't meet them. It wasn't anything to do with the mission. It was stupid and reckless. But Bullet's half crazed mystery talk had sparked Dan's curiosity. What could possibly have driven the pair to that? What did they want Dan for? This was one of the most affluent areas in London, they were hardly recruiting street drug runners or thugs. Kids round here didn't need money. So why did they need Dan?

He shouldn't go. It was unprofessional on every level. But then again, they had mentioned a Mr Lester. A small voice in his head was making a very compelling argument: he was following a lead. Being thorough, just in case. Michael Lester was an enigma, a mystery to be solved. This too was a mystery, but maybe they were the same one. Dan would know by Saturday because, of course, he was paying a visit to Tyson's gym.

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_**this was hella dull i'm so sorry it's just such a complicated plot it needs loads of background pls stick with it i'm super nervous about this one**_


	3. The Lesters

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School was slow. Phil had already taken two days off sick, and judging by the teacher's expression when she took the register, Dan got the impression that this was not an uncommon occurrence. The other students were not friendly. It wasn't until Thursday that he first heard them talking about Phil.

"Lester's 'ill' again."

"Yeah, right. That just means his papa's out of town."

"Did I ever tell you guys? My mum went to one of their cocktail parties in January. She said they had really strong accents. Really northern."

"What like, 'baff' and 'laff'?"

"Exactly. It gets better though, mum said that halfway through it all came to an abrupt end because little Phillip went missing. He just wandered off. Left his phone at home and didn't tell anyone he was going. Crazy, right? In the middle of your parents party as well. He's a loony. My mother would have skinned me alive."

"Christ. No wonder everyone's so horrible to him, he brings it on himself. I do feel sorry for him though. I mean, he's mental – but I don't think he's mean."

Dan was getting increasingly irritated with the hushed, disapproving tone of their voices. It sounded like they were discussing someone who'd just died. He turned around abruptly and adopted a wide smile.

"Hi, um, sorry to interrupt. I'm Dan. I just moved here and I don't know anyone so I thought I should say hi."

"Hi." Someone muttered sarcastically, but a pretty girl with blonde hair thrust her hand forwards with a winning smile.

"Hello," she said as they shook. "I'm Harriet, but I go by Hattie. This is Doug, Charlie, Lucy, Kate and Ellen."

They all offered their hello's and Dan fought to keep his smile convincing as he took them in. Ellen, the one with the mother who'd met Phil's parents, was tall and slightly horse-faced. Doug had a squashed look about him and had been particularly vicious about Phil; while Dan didn't think he'd heard Lucy say a word the whole four days he'd been at this school.

Hattie continued relentlessly. "We're from all over but mostly South Ken. You walk here, don't you? Whereabouts do you live?"

Dan told her, and they all nodded approvingly. Location seemed to be the best way of judging one another here, followed swiftly by-

"What do your parents do?"

"My Dad runs a technology company." The words rolled off his tongue smoothly now, he'd said them so many times.

More approving nods.

"So," Dan continued after a moment of expectant silence. "You were talking about Phil Lester? He sits next to me in like, everything. What's he like?"

Hattie bit her lip and exchanged a glance with Charlie. "Well, he's a bit of an oddball. You know, not quite all there. Charlie's Aunt's best friend told her that he'd transferred here from a 'special school'. For kids with problems."

Dan smiled pleasantly, while inside his stomach twisted. He knew full well this was not the case. "What's wrong with him? Is he dangerous – should I ask to be moved?" He asked, fighting the urge to clench his teeth together.

Hattie looked uncertainly to Charlie. He had a carefully gelled and neatly cut crop of sandy brown hair and a light smattering of freckles. He was just beginning to lose the boyish roundness in his face, and looked up at Dan with watery blue eyes.

"No," he said slowly. "I don't think he's dangerous. I mean, he might weird you out, but not actually hurt you."

Doug interrupted, turning his dark eyes to Dan. "I wouldn't be so sure," he said, his voice low. "I went to prep school with Phil Lester. He was only there for a year. He was unstable. Sometimes he'd seem so sweet and friendly, then he would go for weeks without talking to anyone. People who crossed him had an odd way of ending up in hospital. He could wrangle his way out of anything - always on the other side of the school when it happened. We were really scared of him. The kids said he had magic powers. He got worse, and then his Dad pulled him out. Said he was getting bullied." Doug laughed sourly. "He wasn't. Ignored, maybe, but only because we wanted to stay well away from him.

"Since he turned up here I've just been waiting for something to happen. My best friend accidentally spilled Ribena on his drawing once. Two days later he's in hospital with a broken collar bone and wouldn't say how it happened. I don't trust Phil. He's messed up." Doug's face was decidedly surly, with dark hair and small eyes. Dan shifted uncomfortably, trying to process this turn of events. That didn't seem at all like the Phil he had spoken too just a few days earlier.

"I think he seems nice," the group seemed to start a little when Lucy spoke up. Her dark hair fell in a sheet across her face and she pushed it back impatiently. "You should give him a chance at least, you sit next to him. Maybe you'll be the first to get through to him. I think he's more scared of us than we are of him."

Dan smiled appreciatively.

"Bullshit," Doug snarled. "There's something seriously wrong with him. His whole family, even. And I'm not really sure I want to figure out what."

Hattie made to speak but the bell rang, interrupting their discussion, and Dan returned to his desk to muse.

* * *

x

* * *

"Hey Phil, how are you?"

"…"

"Phil? You okay? Heard you were sick. You've been off a few days."

Phil paid no attention to Dan, doodling moodily in his notebook, his eyes downcast.

Dan tried again. "Phil? You feeling okay mate? It's been pretty lonely here, being new and all. It's good to have you back."

Silence from his left. Dan sighed. "Okay, never mind." He muttered, flicking through the text book to the page on polynomials and setting it down with perhaps more of a thump than he had intended in the middle of the table. After a few minutes, he turned back to Phil. "Exercise 3A. That's this one. Mr B's promised to keep us behind if even one person hasn't finished this whole spread by break."

"Mr B?" Phil turned suddenly to Dan, his eyes searing. "Nicknames already. You're settling down fast. You've had what, three lessons with him?"

Dan stared speechless back at Phil.

Phil made a noise under his breath and turned back to his doodle.

After a moment, Dan pushed his answers in front of Phil. "Look, I get it if you're not up for maths. It's 9am on a Friday, totally understandable. Could you just copy mine then, please? I don't want to get kept behind over some stupid squiggly lines."

"They're not in the syllabus. Polynomials, that is. We only need a very basic understanding of graphing equations and stuff for GCSE. Anything more complicated than a parabola is A level. Mr Barton's only making us do this to impress our parents. Just more work for us."

"Well that may be true, but can you fuck the system another time, please? I've got a doughnut in my bag that I'd really like to ingest."

Maybe it was his imagination, but Dan thought he caught Phil almost smiling.

"Depends, how good is the doughnut?"

"Raspberry jam. Extra sugar dusting."

"Hmm," Phil pretended to consider. "Alright, I guess it's worth it. I'll do it, now get back to work or it will be you holding us all back."

Dan turned back to his graphs with a grin. Though Phil didn't speak another word the whole lesson, Dan couldn't help feeling at least a little victorious. He was good at Phil. At least, better than the other students. His ability to draw a smooth curve however still needed a little finesse.

* * *

"Hey."

"What do you want?"

"Just wanted to say hey. We're neighbours."

"It's ICT. It's the most antisocial lesson for a reason."

"Would you prefer I email you?"

"Headphones mean don't talk to me."

"So I can email you. Excellent. So it will be P something Lester at whatsit dot ac dot uk. Right?"

"What are you even talking about?" Phil said, frustrated.

"Your school email. I need your middle name."

"I'm not telling you."

"Fine," Dan shrugged. "I'll look it up."

Phil sighed exasperatedly and made a show of turning the volume on his monitor right up to 100.

* * *

x

* * *

"Psst."

"…"

"PMLester."

"…"

"Yo Phil. Philip Michael Lester. Check your emails."

"You're infuriating, you know that?"

Dan grinned. Phil was almost smiling, too. Then his expression clouded suddenly and he turned away.

"I mean it. Leave me alone."

Dan's face fell slightly and he faltered. The spreadsheet he was supposed to be manipulating was still hopelessly bare, and he entered another value with a sigh, his ears straining for the ping of an email notification.

* * *

To: PMLester .uk

Subject: howdily doodily neighborino

10:09 AM

Mrs K has sellotape on her back spread the word this is whole school worthy gossip

-Dan

To: PMLester .uk

Subject: howdily doodily neighborino

10:11 AM

how do you open a word document

I mean it

I can't find word

Why isn't it on the desktop help me these computers are too old I don't understand them wtf even is vista

(Also my name is cooler than yours I mean DJHowell could it get any better DJ Howell in the tech room what up)

To: PMLester .uk

Subject: howdily doodily neighborino

10:13 AM

Phiiiiiiiil I'm bored entertain me I'm dying

-DJ Howell

To: PMLester .uk

Subject: howdily doodily neighborino

10:16 AM

I'm going to continue this monologue until you start talking to me xoxoxo

-DJ Howell

To: PMLester .uk

Subject: howdily doodily neighborino

10:22 AM

Seriously are you okay and stuff? I know you've been ill for a while but like I wanna be friends so I'm just trying to make sure you don't need anything etc I'm just not very good at it

-DJ Howell

_To: __DJHowell .uk_

_Subject: howdily doodily neighborino_

_10:25 AM_

_I'm fine piss off_

_(you'd make a terrible DJ. No offence.)_

_-Phil_

To: PMLester .uk

Subject: howdily doodily neighborino

10:28 AM

To: PMLester .uk

Subject: howdily doodily neighborino

10:29 AM

Way to wait to reply until literally 4 minutes before the end of lessons. you're not getting away from me that easily. I'm going to follow you around all break.

"That's illegal."

Dan started at the sound of Phil's voice, turning to grin guiltily at him. Phil was surveying him over a pair of navy framed glasses. Dan wondered when he'd put them on. The hint of a smile tugging at the edges of Phil's lips was something Dan was growing to recognise, and he fought back a triumphant grin.

"Are you really going to sit with me at break?" Phil asked. He was trying to sound annoyed, but he couldn't quite pull it off.

"Yep." Dan said cheerfully.

"You know, I could probably report you for harassment at this point. By the way – you have to get to Word through the start menu. All programs, then go to Microsoft. You can make a desktop icon but it reverts back as soon as you log out so there's not much point."

Dan smiled. "Oh wow, a start menu. How archaic."

Phil just rolled his eyes. "Come on then. I need to buy an apple and if we don't hurry up only the squishy yellow ones will be left."

* * *

Phil seemed to resign himself to talking to Dan and relaxed during the break, abandoning the hostility of the morning. Dan knew he was supposed to be directing the conversation towards Phil's family, but when talking to Phil it was difficult to stay on one topic for more than a few minutes. He had a strange way of looking at the world, and Dan was fascinated.

"I don't mind people spending money on stupid things, but I just can't stand waste. If I had a million pounds I'd buy the best yacht I could. I'd travel the world. I'd buy a gold plated toilet or something. I don't know. Even if I had all the money in the whole world, I'd still want to get value for it, you know? I can't stand people that spend £2000 on a bottle of wine. You're literally going to digest it. That's almost as bad as burning money for show. I don't care if it's Monet or King Peter or whatever, it's not worth that money. If you're desperate to throw it then give it away. Become a philanthropist." Phil stuck his fork moodily into his potato salad. "Designers are the worst. You know, a Chanel label literally increases the value by 8 times. That's ridiculous. I don't care if you want to buy a shoe made entirely of diamonds, but paying for something inconsequential really bothers me. That's why I hate this school so much. They're all like that. Designer clothes. Buying expensive champagne for no other reason than to express just how wealthy they are. We know they're wealthy, have you seen the fees for this place?!"

Dan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, twisting his watch around so that Phil couldn't see the maker's mark. "I get you, really I do. But like, the best way to achieve happiness is to spend your money on experiences and memories rather than material things. Because you always want more with physical things. The phone will go out of date, the clothes out of fashion, the car rusty. Memories tend to improve with age because you only remember the good bits."

"I know, but I really don't think a bottle of Monet is going to produce a substantially better moment in your life than tesco's Cava."

"Okay fair point," Dan shrugged. "I mean no offence here so please tell me if I'm out of line, but you live in one of the nicest streets around here. You've got to be pretty well off. Is that why you feel like this?"

Phil didn't say anything for a moment, and Dan bit his lip as he watched his body language change ever so subtly. His hands folded in his lap and his shoulders hunched together, moving backwards just a little.

"Well, yeah. Everyone in here is. But not my family. We didn't always have this much money so we haven't quite made that transition yet, and I don't ever want to."

Dan glanced at the clock. The bell would ring to signal the end of break in just a few minutes, and Dan wasn't in Phil's next lesson so he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences. It was worth a little push. He thought carefully about his phrasing.

"Your parents must be really good at what they do. We've had money in the family for ages. How did your family get it so quickly?"

"Dad started his business, it went really well I guess but he doesn't tell me anything. Break's over, bye."

Phil stood up quickly, pushing his chair backwards and scooping his bag onto his shoulder. Dan cursed quietly as he watched him leave.

* * *

"My sister's a bitch. You got any siblings? They're a right pain."

"One brother. He was the good kid, he got a degree and everything and now he's backpacking round Australia."

"That's really cool. Do you get on? What's he like?"

"Dunno, haven't seen him in ages."

* * *

"Does your mum look like you? Because I think I saw her walking down our road."

"When?"

"This morning."

"Wasn't her. She doesn't get up till 11."

"Oh."

* * *

"My Dad's taking me to Wembley at the weekend. I don't really like tennis, but it's nice to spend time with him. Does your Dad hang out with you a lot?"

"No."

"Mmm."

* * *

"You draw a lot."

"Yeah," Phil grinned up at Dan from the grass, his hair falling in front of his eyes. "It's comforting and my therapist likes it."

Dan tried not to react. "I wish I could draw. You're so talented, I'm jealous."

"That's bull. With art you're not born with it. It's all practice. Natural aptitude is useless unless you practice. If you worked at it solidly for a week you'd be better than me, and that's a promise. The only reason some people pick it up quicker than others is because of the way they can see things. There's no gene for like, a steady hand."

"Do you ever paint?"

"When I have time. I like to go into the countryside."

"Who takes you? Your Dad? Does he draw too?"

Phil wavered for a moment before shrugging. "Yeah, sometimes. What about you anyway. What do you like?"

"Oh, er…"

* * *

x

* * *

Dan prodded his pasta with a fork. "Just a quick mission, huh?"

"Hey, don't have a go at me. We're mostly waiting on you." Janet pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"That's not fair. Phil's impossible. He's got one hell of a wall built up, and I'm chipping away at it with a toothbrush."

"Well maybe it's time to use a mallet. He's not going to tell you. So you need to find out for yourself. Get into his house. Meet the infamous Mr Lester if you can and make your own judgement. If we take too long the mission will be pulled as a drain on resources."

Dan surveyed a pasta spiral with a glare. "Okay. I'm on it. I'll figure out a way, I guess."

"You'll have to, otherwise it's your mission record that will be in the red."

Dan scowled up at her. "Yeah thanks, that's really encouraging. What have you been doing all day?!"

Janet sighed. "We're doing our best. I've joined Mrs Lester's yoga class, but she always turns up just as the class is starting and leaves without getting changed. She seems friendly, but far too busy to socialise. Sophie joined Tyson's gym, do you remember? Nothing fishy there at all so at least that's one thing less for you to have to look into. You can focus your attention on Phil."

Dan shifted guiltily. He hadn't gone to Tyson's on Saturday, but not because he planned to abandon that lead: Rocko and Bullet had chosen to speak to him because he stood out. He didn't do what they'd expected him to, and if he wanted to gain their respect he knew he would have to keep breaking rules. He'd walked past a few times, but never spared the grey building a second glance. Unless he progressed with Phil any further, he would go this weekend.

Janet continued oblivious to Dan's discomfort. "Come on Dan, you've been trained in this. Get through to him. Find a way of making him want to spend time with you, perhaps make him feel sorry for you. An insecurity. Something you need his help with. Team up with him in a school project and then tell him we've got decorators in so you're not allowed to bring anyone home. Really I don't know why it's taking so long, school provides a myriad of excuses."

Dan muttered under his breath as he ran his empty bowl under the tap and started to wash up. She did have a point, though. He'd been too much Agent Daniel J and not enough Dan Howell. He didn't need to be himself, he needed to be Dan Howell – Phil's best friend – even if Dan Howell was not a person he particularly wanted to be. As a familiar face jogged past the window in hot pink running shorts, Dan had an idea.


	4. The Beard

2112023626

* * *

The powdery smell of wet paint filled the room almost stiflingly. It was mostly quiet. Someone was playing smooth jazz out of an iPod in a corner, and a few people murmured to each other in soft voices, but the majority of the students worked in a comfortable silence maintained by intense concentration. Dan had always wondered how people could find art relaxing, when he'd always found it so stressful, but with Phil to coach him gently through it all it didn't seem so bad. It was frustrating – infuriatingly slow – but he was beginning to learn how to turn a mistake into a slightly more arty way of looking at things. Phil had persuaded him to stop trying so hard to get the proportions right, and instead to take a more abstract approach. Dan had completely destroyed and crumpled the last piece of paper with his vigorous rubbing out of tentative pencil lines. Now, he was painting straight onto his canvas – working over and over until his splodges slowly started to resemble something a little more human.

He'd discovered that his favourite technique was to dab with a large brush. He liked the rougher, thicker texture it created. He liked the way it blended without completely smoothing out the colour. There were flecks of green and blue and red and yellow in this person's skin, but it didn't look unnatural. On the contrary: it looked a lot more real, somehow. Less cartoon-like than the girl next to him, who had painted her portrait with a nice even pinky colour for the skin. Of course, more than half the brush strokes were made by Phil, but Dan still felt a sense of achievement as he was able to haltingly copy what Phil was showing him.

"Remind me again why I'm doing this?" Phil said with a sigh.

"Because you're a nice person who wants to help out a friend. Now shut up and help me mix this paint. How do you even make brown?"

Phil watched Dan smear paint around his palette despairingly. "You really don't need a lot. Wait no stop! You've put way too much black in, it'll take so long to get back to brown that you might as well start again. Quickly though, before she looks over."

Dan cast a cautionary glance over at where Lucy was sculpting a large wire framed bird. Truth be told he was rather pleased with himself for spinning this one so well to Phil. Dan was harbouring a secret crush and needed Phil's help to get into art club to see her without making a fool of. A perfect excuse to spend more time with Phil; and actually quite enjoyable, if only he would stop shoving him whenever Lucy walked past.

"Phil," Dan hissed. "She's coming over. Quick. You have to make this look good so she doesn't realise."

"Doesn't realise what? That you have all the artistic ability of a slug?" Phil was clearly enjoying himself, and Dan fought back a smile.

"Exactly. I'll stand in front."

"You know, if this actually works you're so screwed. She'll have you figured out in less than five minutes."

Dan pretended to consider for a moment. "Okay, good point. This means you're going to actually teach me how to art."

"Oh no."

"Oh yes."

"This is ridiculous. You barely know her!"

"You only live once, Philip."

"Shut up you spoon."

"I may be a spoon, but you're still doing my art for me."

"Shh. She's coming."

"She will b-"

"No."

* * *

x

* * *

Dan flung his bag angrily into the hall, storming into the kitchen and slumping down into a chair with a growl.

"Bad day?" Janet raised an eyebrow.

Unlike the popular depiction of a stay-at-home-mum, Janet was neither cooking nor cleaning in the kitchen, and was instead using the doorframe to rep a sequence of two-finger pull-ups – thick biceps bulging.

"Every time I get close to him he shoves me away. What am I doing wrong?"

Janet touched down with a muted thud and moved to pat Dan sympathetically on the back. "Wanna tell me about it?"

Dan took a deep breath. "It's bad," he said. His fingers were drumming incessantly on the table and his posture was rigid and aggressive.

"I was doing art club with him, just the two of us," he began. "It was going really well – I thought I finally had it sorted. A little bit of bonding. Then he just switches without a second's warning. Starts doing this whole mystery man thing. Tells me I should 'stay away'. What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

Janet's face lined with worry as she pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him, flipping open her laptop. "Okay, slow down. Take it from the top. Do you think he was hinting at something?"

Dan shook his head. "No, it was way too cliché – too poorly executed. Okay so I ask him how he draws hands right, and he leans over to show me. We're chatting away comfortably and he's drawing out all these diagrams; and I just casually brush his arm, nothing weird just how we're taught, you know, break the touch barrier. Show that you feel comfortable around them, and they'll start feel comfortable around you, right? Only he completely froze up. He just broke off mid-sentence and moved really slowly away. So I'm backtracking really quickly, you know, maybe he has a thing about physical contact. But he's not responding. Then he just interrupts me mid-sentence and tells me that I should be talking to Lucy if I want to impress her, and to stay away from him. And then he was like 'My back's hurting. I'm going to use an easel.' Then he got up and took all his work into a corner. Like, what's that all about? He's a nutcase. Seriously."

Janet frowned. "Did you try to make contact with him again after the incident?"

Dan nodded. "Yep. At the end I cornered him in the corridor to apologise for whatever the hell it was that I'd done. He stared at me the whole time I was talking with this really weird expression, but he didn't say anything even when I'd finished. So I was like 'Look, you're my friend Phil. I do like Lucy, but I really liked spending time with you too. I don't have any other friends here.' And you know what he said? The melodramatic bastard. 'I'm not your friend.' And then he walked off. Like, shit. Well there goes the whole fucking mission. Jesus Christ. How am I supposed to save this one? Literally just half an hour before we were getting along like a house on fire. So that's it. I give up, really I do. I don't understand him."

Janet eyed Dan scrupulously. "Okay, calm down. I get that you're angry, but this can be fixed, I'm sure of it. You told him you liked this girl Lucy, right?" She leaned back, tapping on her keyboard. "I think that could potentially be your problem. I didn't mention this before because I didn't think it was relevant, but there's a possibility that Phil is actually gay. At least, that's what he told one of his therapists."

Dan blinked. "Isn't stuff like that supposed to be just a _little_ confidential?" he said, still trying to process what she'd just said.

Janet shifted uncomfortably. "It wasn't deliberate. Doctors and psychologists only keep confidentiality if there's no danger to the patient or others in doing so. Obviously as law enforcement we have access to a lot of files. We were only looking to find out what he'd been admitted for, mostly for the sake of risk assessment and paperwork. It was an accident."

"Right," Dan muttered. "So what are you saying? Do you think I made him uncomfortable talking about Lucy?"

"It's a possibility, I suppose, but I doubt it. You say it was the touch that did it? Maybe he thought you were coming onto him."

Dan shook his head violently. "No, definitely not. I'd just been spouting rubbish about Lucy for half an hour. It was completely casual."

"Well then. Maybe he likes you, but wants to protect himself by staying away, as you clearly like someone else - and a female someone else at that."

"I guess," Dan said slowly. "But again, I doubt it. He's only just met me. What should I do?"

Janet shrugged. "The mission is over before it's even started unless you can make proper contact with Phil. We haven't got an awful lot to lose if he's already shunned you. It could take months to work your way back in with him, and we don't have months. My suggestion is that we go for drastic measures in an all or nothing scenario."

"I don't like the sound of it already," Dan filled a glass of water from the tap and perched on the edge of the counter. "Go on."

"Approach Phil the first chance you get on Monday. Tell him that you need to admit something to him, because it's been going round and round in your head and it would make you feel a lot better to get it out of your system."

"So what am I admitting?" Dan prompted.

"That you only pretended to have a crush on Lucy to spend more time with him."

"But what good is that going to do, that's just creepy and-"

"Because you actually have a crush on him."

"Oh."

"Think about it." Janet went on. "If he feels the same way then you're right back on track. If he doesn't, then we've still got the possibility he'll feel sorry for you and mollified by your admission."

Dan was backing away quickly, his expression horrified. "No. No, I'm not doing it. That's fucked up that is. Pretending to have feelings for someone."

Janet's eyes narrowed and she stood up, folding her arms across her chest. ""You do it all the bloody time, you're an intelligence agent! Christ, Dan. I've seen your files. More than half your past work has involved using romantic interest to your advantage. You're a good looking boy, and you are quite aware of it and capable of utilizing it. The only reason you're against the idea is because he's male."

"Well, yeah! Obviously! I'm not gay!" Dan stormed.

"No, you're an experienced operative. Your whole job is literally pretending to be someone you're not. In this scenario, the person you're pretending to be is gay. Don't be so bloody childish." Janet glared down at him, her face steel.

"I can't do it. I won't. Saying it is one thing, but this isn't a short term thing – I'd actually have to follow through." Dan was shaking now, his hands clenched into fists.

Janet lowered her voice. "Of course, we respect our operatives and would never ask them to do something they are uncomfortable with. You can pull out of the mission at any time," her tone was now dangerously gentle. "Using child agents was always a bit of an experiment, but clearly those under the age of eighteen are not mature enough to deal with the emotional strain of intelligence work. I'll be sure to carefully explain the reason for your departure in my report. One question though: your reaction surprises me a little because you've been very good at this kind of thing in the past. You managed to portray a murderous convict with psychological problems in order to join a group on the run with no difficulty. In fact, if my records are correct, you were able to pledge your love for a young girl – to spend the rest of your life by her side, in fact – before arresting her father and two older brothers right in front of her and leaving without a single word of condolence. But, of course, your heterosexuality must be defended to the death. At least, the potential death of your career."

Janet took a few steps back before dropping to the floor and embarking on a fast paced series of press-ups and claps.

"You don't have to take a dick in your arse, Dan," she said between breaths. "You know full well you don't so that's just complete bullshit because you're a whiny little git who loves himself too much to grow up and show some man to man love."

Dan was speechless. His hand had frozen halfway through lifting the glass to his mouth, and most of the water had splashed down his front. Janet rolled over into sit-ups and continued.

"It's in your contract and they'll have drilled it into you a gazillion times. Super politically bloody correct these days. You will _never_ be expected to engage in any kind of sexual activity in order to further a mission. Strictly your own decision. You don't even have to kiss him, but really that is quite pathetic if you can't even muster up a quick peck. You're supposed to be a professional, Dan. Act like one."

Dan was nonchalantly mopping up the spilled water with a tea towel and pretended not to hear her.

She continued oblivious, panting a little now. "It's your call. But you're still very young, it's easy for you really. You just have to say 'I'm not ready' or 'I've never done this before baby' and he'll back right off. And if he doesn't, you've got the self-defence skills to make him. Anyway, you're such a self-obsessed little bitch that I doubt he'll return your affections. If anything, it'll just bring you that bit closer and you can be friends again."

Dan realised that she was waiting for him to respond and he fought to find some words. "Whatever," he spluttered, and slouched out of the room.

"Grow up, you prick." She called after him.

* * *

x

* * *

Her speech had been going round and round in his head all afternoon, and he desperately wished he had a punch bag in his room. He needed to vent. His footsteps were heavy and erratic as he paced the hallway. He wanted to run or fight or lift some really heavy weights. Again, the prospect of Tyson's Gym just around the corner swum into his head as he dreamed longingly of a really good workout. He was pumped, he could make it count. Because it was threatening to burst out already.

Dan wasn't a particularly macho person. He liked to spend time on his appearance. Straightening his hair each morning and carefully choosing an outfit from a wardrobe of mostly designer or brand clothes. He did get teased sometimes on campus, for being a 'pretty boy' and perhaps a little vain, but no one had ever questioned his sexuality. He always had a girl in his life. He was a little less brash than the other agents, a bit more sympathetic and sensitive. He was quieter and much less of a 'lad'. But he was good looking, fairly witty and still in good shape despite the lack of any serious muscle to pack. Girls liked him, and he liked girls. He cursed Janet angrily. If he followed through with her plan, word would get back to all his friends on campus and he'd never hear the end of it. His reputation would be in shreds. Girls wouldn't want to date him anymore, freaked out by the possibility that he'd kissed another man, and the guys would just rip him to shreds. Of course, Janet knew how bad it would be, so calling him immature and telling him he needed to be more professional was a low blow. It wasn't like the official MI5. These were kids, sex obsessed and decidedly immature. This wasn't something they'd take lightly. Finally losing control, Dan let out a feral snarl and thrust his fist straight through the drywall and into Janet's bedroom.

* * *

With a crisp £20 note in his pocket and Janet's screams ringing in his ears, Dan set off at a brisk jog towards the community gym she'd pointed out to him. A squirrel ran in front of him on the pavement and a bus blared its horn in the distance, and suddenly Dan made a snap decision. He turned left instead of right. Screw the community gym. He was going to Tyson's.


	5. Tyson's

The smell of the gym was homely somehow to Dan. He was surprised by how much he'd missed the stench of sweat, metal and plastic with just a hint of cleaning fluid - or maybe protein shakes. The rhythmic clink of the metal weights was music to his ears, and the electric hum of all the machines thrummed through his veins, the pounding of feet on treadmills in time with his beating heart. It wasn't so much that he liked to exercise, he was inherently lazy and found it all too easy to slip out of practice and out of shape, but this was a world he'd missed and craved the whole mission.

He sprinted on a treadmill for a few minutes, but only to warm up. He was here for something a whole lot more aggressive.

Down in the weight room in the basement of the building, there was a whole corner full of swinging punch bags, targets and pads. He resisted as long as he could, forcing himself to stretch properly and finish his warm-up, before laying into the bags with all his might.

It felt good to hit something. He felt powerful as he sent the bag spiralling blow after blow. It was almost all male down here, and the steady grunts and reek of perspiration helped Dan relax. He felt masculine here. He was strong. He was straight. And there was no way he was kissing Phil Lester.

With much of his energy released, Dan hit the weights, gulping down half a bottle of warm tap water and wiping his face with a towel. The pressure felt good, too. His muscles reacted joyfully to the strain. He'd been longing for this more than he was willing to admit. He didn't think of himself as a gym junkie, or someone who was really that fussed in building muscle, but he couldn't deny that when he was at his peak he felt really good. He liked being able to spring out of bed in the morning and feel the power in his arms. He liked the feeling of elation he got after every work out, and the blissful lethargy when that wore off. When he'd first joined the UU he'd been placed on a rigorous training program to get him physically fit enough to operate, and for the first few weeks it had been hell. Everything had ached and most days he'd left in tears. There was nothing he had dreaded more than the sight of the campus gym, but now he visited by choice almost every evening – mornings too if he got the chance. He'd vowed to keep it up even if he did leave the military, because he knew that getting back into shape after a long break would be hell.

Dan was lost in his own bubble of concentration, lifting in time to his music. He was so focused that he didn't see Bullet approach until he was right beside him. The scrawny boy waited, arms folded and foot tapping, for Dan to set down the heavy bar and pull his headphones out of his ears.

"Oh, look what the cat dragged in." Bullet said sarcastically. He was wearing grey tracksuit bottoms and a Fred Perry shirt. Rocko was nowhere to be seen, and Bullet's expression was sour.

"Can I help you with something?" Dan said with false politeness. Truth be told after nearly three weeks of lounging about in affluent suburban London, Dan was itching for some excitement.

"You didn't show."

"Nah, I didn't really fancy it. I stayed home and watched Bargain Hunt instead."

Bullet bristled. "You think you're so cool with your fancy moves, Dan Howell, but just you wait. If I had my way I'd teach you a lesson for disrespecting me like that. But lucky for you we're in need of some new muscle and the boss is down my neck for not recruiting quickly enough. So I'm going to be nice. I'm going to give you a second chance. You interested in sparkling up your life a little, gay boy?"

Dan stood up suddenly, arms flexing. "I'm not gay. Shut your cocky little mouth, midget." He snarled.

Bullet raised an eyebrow. "Oh, did I hit a nerve? Touchy subject for you? I couldn't care less, honey, but if it's something that bothers you then you might want to lay off the skin tight jeans and pretty little earrings. This gym is run by my crew. Some of the guys here have done time. You know what it's like inside… maybe they got a taste for it. I'd be careful if I were you. Wouldn't want to give them the wrong idea."

Dan swore foully at Bullet, and he sniggered. "You are a touchy one, aren't you," Bullet was full of confidence again – he certainly gave the impression that all the beefy men in the room would jump to his aid if Dan were to try anything – and he was enjoying the taunting. Dan grit his teeth as he continued.

"So, here's my proposal. My boys have done some digging and they can't find shit about you. It's like you just sprung up out of thin air, but that's convenient for us. We know you've got a bit of a taste for danger, I've seen you jumping the barrier at the train station even though you're clearly loaded."

Bullet was bullshitting, and they both knew it. Dan had barely used the trains, and jumping the barrier proved nothing. There was an air of desperation in his voice that hinted at the strain behind his eyes. He'd been sent out to find bored youths willing to act as dogsbodies for whatever criminal organisation he worked for; expendable kids that would take most of the risk, selling drugs or robbing houses, for a very small cut of the profits. His boss had given the order but he was struggling to find rule breakers and delinquents in South Kensington. He was taking a big risk right now, propositioning Dan so blatantly when all he had to go on was Dan's willingness for a fight, but he was lucky. Dan was both bored and frustrated. This was exactly what he'd been looking for.

"Go on," Dan said.

Bullet's eyes lit up and he continued. "We got a bit of business coming through. Small time, mostly, but part of something much bigger. I can't tell you shit unless we know we can trust you, though. Can you stay here till seven? That's when the boys start arriving. We'll have to get to know you before we can put anything your way, you understand?"

Dan nodded. "I can stay. No sweat."

Bullet nodded. He made to move away then turned back. "By the way, do you speak any other languages?"

Warily, Dan nodded. "Mandarin. Castilian Spanish. A bit of Russian."

"I thought so. That'll be useful."

Dan frowned. Why would languages be useful for some sort of youth street job? And how had Bullet guessed? Maybe he'd got the wrong idea about the kind of work Bullet was offering, but either way he supposed he was about to find out. He turned slowly back to his weights and stared at the wall, realising he had another, much more pressing question to answer.

Why was Michael Lester's name pinned up on a display board under 'Senior Management Staff'?

* * *

x

* * *

Dan found himself an abductor in a corner that was nicely out of the way, but still allowed him a good view of most of the gym floor. He sat quietly watching Bullet's 'boys' trickle in. They didn't look like the type of men Michael Lester would associate himself with. There were a few hardened gangsters, heavily tattooed and muscled men with skinheads and piercings, but mostly they were young men with expensive watches and thick arms.

Four of the biggest men were converging on a single bench press, where they encouraged whoever was on the bench with grunts and growls. A group of younger lads, aged, Dan guessed between nineteen and twenty-five, had set up a makeshift boxing ring and were sparring off against each other. There were even a couple of mid-thirties (who looked like they'd be a lot more comfortable in suits than trackies) perched somewhat reluctantly atop a pair of rowing machines.

A twenty-something with wiry black hair was eyeing Dan up, his expression unreadable, while a tall, gaunt looking man had ignored the gym equipment completely and was sitting up against a wall with a laptop. A handful of younger kids had trickled in and were attempting to mingle – but it was clear that they were not high status within this community.

There were very few thug-types, and for that Dan was grateful. They tended to be the kind to hit first and think later, and when outnumbered they spelled trouble. Rocko was nowhere to be seen, instead the place at Bullet's side taken by the closest humanoid representation of a potato Dan had ever seen. A brute with impressive scars brought up the rear, and in total there were about 40 men in the basement. Dan could have cut the testosterone in the air with a knife.

It was clear however by the way everyone was milling around that they were still waiting for someone. Bullet kept glancing nervously towards the door, while the man on the laptop was watching the clock through narrowed eyes. Finally he door swung open and a towering, heavily built figure strode in, his arms stiff at his sides. He had piercing dark eyes and brown hair shaved close to his scalp. Dan knew straight away hat this was not someone he wanted to get on the wrong side of.

This, Dan assumed, was the Boss. He had hardly expected it to be Michael Lester. If Mr Lester was part of this organization, then he was somewhere at the very top. There was too much muscle and too many prison tattoos in this gathering for - the truly Big criminals didn't go to prison, and they didn't have any need for serious bulk. They had other people to do the fighting for them, and to take the rap whenever things got nasty.

From Dan's mission history and the dark haired man's accent, Dan guessed he was Spanish and soon learned that his name was Diego. He had rough, weathered skin that was a deep olive tone. His face crinkled into a smile as he moved around the room making small talk with the assembly. Dan watched him cautiously. Diego's eyes sparkled easily, but were impossibly quick to darken. He was expressive, and unpredictable. He was dangerous. Dan shivered in anticipation. He'd missed this. He'd missed the adrenalin and the fear and the uncertainty. He'd missed the life or death decisions, the bare knuckle fights and the thrill of a good chase. Inconspicuously in his darkened corner, he began to limber up.

* * *

x

* * *

Bullet looked nervous and was pulling at his collar when Diego finally turned to him.

"I got your message," Diego said, his voice gruff. "Are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

As the pair approached, Dan got carefully to his feet and shifted round the machine to face him.

"Bullet says your name is Dan."

"Yes, sir." Dan said. He figured that if he wanted to keep his limbs attached to his body then he should probably show this man as much respect as possible.

"Where you from?"

Dan told him, and the big man eyed him distastefully. "We don't know this kid. Why did you bring him here?" He asked Bullet.

"He was looking for a bit of work," Bullet said quickly. "We're mates. I can vouch for him. He's a good kid."

"He's a stranger. What the hell did you tell him?"

"Nothing, I swear! I just told him to come here if he was interested."

"Interested in what? You can't just pick up random kids off the street and tell them everything!" Diego growled.

Bullet was stuttering helplessly and Dan knew he had to say something or he'd be straight back where he started.

"Please, I'm not a snitch. I'm reliable I swear. I need the money."

"What the hell do you need money for? Don't your parents give you any?" Diego raised an eyebrow at Dan's designer shirt.

"Well, no, at least not for things I want. They'll buy me clothes and stuff, but that's it. I have to wait till I'm 18 before I can get at any of my savings."

Diego snorted. "It's always the bloody same. Rich English brats. Always so greedy. Why don't you just tell the truth, shrimp. Is it drugs? What do you have such a pressing need for that your doting parents won't supply?"

Dan shifted uncomfortably and looked at the floor. Diego laughed loudly and turned away.

"Sorry kid. We can't help you. You're so lanky you look like you'd blow over in the wind. Little pretty posh boy. You'd be ripped to shreds in our business."

Dan gritted his teeth, trying to think of something that would help his case. It would be a lot easier if he knew what their 'business' was. Bullet had made a mess of this whole thing, probably in an attempt to impress Diego. He looked up and caught Bullet's eye. The skinny boy was red in the face, his cheeks glowing as the watching men chuckled.

"Diego, wait," Bullet said desperately. "He's the one that beat up Rocko."

Diego turned around slowly, the amused smile still on his lips. "Oh, how about that. So you know some moves, skinny boy? Our boy Rocko was in a pretty bad way after you'd finished with him. And he don't get beat easy." Diego said, pretending to consider. "Well, maybe it is a bit unfair of me just to turn you away without giving you a chance. What is it, martial arts?"

Dan nodded.

"You ever been in a boxing ring?"

Dan shook his head slowly, realisation dawning with a trickle of dread that ran like ice down his spine. Around him, the beefy men began to laugh.

"Tell you what then," Diego grinned, gold teeth glinting in the back of his mouth. "You want to shimmy in with our crew? We like to box. You just better hope you're quick on your feet."

The laughs that surrounded him were now considerably malicious, and Dan shuddered. This would be a lot easier if he hadn't just worked out for three hours. His muscles were aching and his whole body was tired, but for now he'd have to ignore that and focus on not getting killed.

"Let's see how you fare against Matt." Diego said, the smile audible in his gruff drawl.

Dan let out a small sigh of relief when he spotted Matt sizing up to him. He was a head shorter than Dan, and perhaps a tad broader. He was toned and looked fairly athletic, but at least he wasn't one of the tattooed monsters that looked fit to burst out of their shirts. Matt leered at him before slipping a crescent of red rubber into his mouth, and Dan glanced around.

"Do I get a gum shield too?" He asked, but the men just laughed.

Dan was handed a pair of boxing gloves several sizes too small for him and falling apart at the seams. He gulped, before taking a tentative step into the makeshift ring.

Diego planted himself comfortably in a plastic chair.

"Ding ding!" He said with a grin.

Matt was fast and knew how to box, but thankfully he was not strong. Dan spent a good few minutes staying out of his way, before finally darting forwards with a tentative right hook. The glove softened the blow, and Matt sniggered as he parried back. Dan realised he would have to put a lot more force behind his punches if he wanted to have any chance of winning this fight, which would be a lot easier if he knew the rules. He was starting to sense a pattern here, and he gritted his teeth angrily. Knowledge is power, and right now he was uncomfortably clueless – which seemed to be just how this 'crew' liked him.

He deflected another blow from Matt with his right arm and winced. Matt's gloves felt a lot more firm than his. Would he get yelled at if he improvised a little? There was only one way to find out, and he would have to act soon before his opponent realised he was left handed.

Matt barrelled forwards with a grunt and Dan seized his opportunity, using the squat man's momentum to slip his left hand round Matt's waist and bring them both spinning round to face each other, where Dan landed a smart blow to the side of his jaw. The spin had left Matt off balance and the hit sent him stumbling backwards. As he tried to catch himself, Dan charged forwards and released a quick-fire volley of hard punches, pummelling relentlessly into his opponent's side. The watching crowd jeered as Matt fought to defend himself and finally toppled to the floor.

Dan was pumped from the fight and sprang back, ready for the next round, but Diego had risen to his feet and was closing down the ring. He made his way over to Dan with a curious expression on his face.

"Bullet wasn't exaggerating. You have a lot of fight in you for someone so weedy, and you clearly enjoy it. You surprised me, and poor Matt. Have you always lived here?"

Dan shook his head.

"Where did you learn that?" Diego asked.

Dan decided a bit of liberal storytelling would be needed if he was going to win the affections of this man, and took a big gulp of water to give himself time to formulate something believable.

"I lived in Spain for a while when I was young," he began. "That's where I first got into it. My parents let me wander about a lot there, I think they thought it was safer than England. We had a nice house, but we were not far from the poor areas. I made friends with a lot of kids my age who spent most of their days on the streets. There were gangs. Mostly aged about 14-20, but we would hang on the edges and try wheedle our way in. Street fights were a big deal, even for the little kids. We learnt to fight with our hands and our teeth and anything else we could find."

He was probably taking this a bit too far, Dan decided, it sounded like some kind of gritty Spanish indie movie. Time to pack it out. It was a delicate balance between giving just enough detail to sound convincing without going over the top.

"There were big face-offs between us and the Latin American gangs. Looking back I guess it was a bit petty, but it seemed like the world to us. Me and my friend delivered some mysterious packages for one of the older boys, and in return he took us under his wing a bit. Promised he'd teach us to fight like the really big kids did. He didn't do a very good job. I think mostly he wanted to laugh at us trying to tear each other's throats out, but we moved to England before I'd really learned how to do it, and I guess I still had that urge in me from growing up around all that. I convinced my Dad to let me take karate classes, and then I stole money out of his wallet to pay for all the martial arts classes I could find."

Diego let out bellowing laugh. "Thieving little shit. Where abouts in Spain?"

"Er, Madrid." Dan panicked.

Diego nodded sadly. "I could have guessed. Madrid is the worst for the Latins."

Dan let out a sigh of relief, which thankfully Diego didn't notice.

"Do you still speak any Spanish?" Diego continued. He was smiling eagerly now, and Dan congratulated himself quietly for this stroke of genius.

Dan nodded. "Not as good as I used to, but I reckon I could still pass as fluent."

Diego nodded, putting a thick arm around Dan's shoulder and leading him down through the gym as they talked. Dan couldn't help a smug little smile creeping onto his face as he caught the jealous glares from the other teenagers. He'd got very lucky, and he knew it. He still had the tan on him from his most recent mission, where he'd helped to shut down a heroin smuggling operation transporting drugs through Gibraltar and into Britain. He'd infiltrated the system through a street gang much like the one he'd described to Diego, but couldn't have told the real story for fear that the big man might have had links there and know what happened.

They were heading towards a plain, innocent looking door in the far wall of the basement. Dan opened his mouth to ask where they were going, before shutting it again. He'd been so caught up in not dying that he'd overlooked the obvious – there was no way any criminal activity would be discussed in a public gym. Diego tapped in a code and pushed the door open with a hefty shove.

The room was dimly lit by a few hanging bulbs and was a little smaller than the weights basement. Plastic chairs were scattered haphazardly around the floor, and a few tables had been pushed together in one corner. In the centre of the room was a threadbare green pool table, and against a wall two fridges hummed quietly.

The rowdy group followed Dan and Diego inside.

"Vamos," Diego said jovially, pulling up a chair. "So. Dan Howell. Let's talk business."

* * *

x

* * *

Half a mile North lay a leafy green park. It was denser and quieter than the greens nearby, and there were trees a plenty tall and broad enough to climb. High up in the branches of just such a tree perched Phil Lester. He lay with his head resting on a knot of wood and his eyes closed. He was listening to the noise of the breeze in the leaves and the quiet tinkling of birdsong that drifted down every now and then. His phone vibrated, shattering a moment of sweet silence, and his face screwed up in irritation. He considered mutiny for a moment, before levering himself round to read the text. His eyebrows furrowed and he let out a long breath, his fingers running through his fringe.

"Well," he muttered quietly to himself. "That complicates things."


End file.
